I’m having trouble making decisions.
Each specific I note or detail I say out loud feels like a flutter, and then disappears. These long moon void of course days, the disruption of my job changing, and the possibility of H’s job not coming back are wearing on me. Parental visits and feeling sick. Being caught up in phone calls where people rant and rave about what’s happening, but no one can do anything. Lacking the support and comfort of therapy. Whatever routine or semblance of rhythm I had a few weeks ago, it’s gone.
Add to all of this H being home for 2 weeks and wanting to reorganize the entire apartment…utter upheaval. We’ve bought new desks, rearranged the office, lost 3 hours in the black hole of Ikea, argued about shelving at Home Depot and then left empty handed.
Running is normally like a reset button for me, but even after 2 rest days, this morning felt like “punching under water” (John Mayer). My lungs felt heavy. I cut my route short and walked the last mile.
As if my body absorbed the chaos, my muscles pull tight as rubber bands, my bones crack under the weight. Things bounce around my head, but I’m unable to sustain a thought long enough to articulate. Even writing this now feels dumb…slow.
Just a phase, I know, one weird cycle in the many cycles of my life, but frustration rises in my throat. I fear I’ll break into a tantrum, stamping my feet and crying. How many changes can one balance? Mercury Retrograde on top of it all doesn’t help – each detail changing, things unclear or constantly being reevaluated.
It’s not anger, but exhaustion. My drive to accomplish, organize, even have fun has dwindled.
…the list of things to-do mounting, the way I always feel in those moments like everything that needs to happen needs to happen this minute and simultaneously. I remember this sensation, I thought, and ran through all the words I have for it. Stressed. Manic. Wound-up. Operating with a Too-Small Margin. Over-stimulated. Weary. (Jen Lee)
She plays the bare minimum game. I’m trying, but mentally things are still chaotic. I worry my ability to do things, that my care for things won’t return, and I’ll just be a zombie of a person. That the weird chest pain I’ve been experiencing will either mean death or anxiety attacks. That things won’t smooth out ever again.
But it will. It always does. I keep breathing, the world keeps spinning and life goes on. And this came up in my morning pages: Feeling like I have too much to do is a direct result of not having enough time alone.
Bingo. Now what to do with that fine observation?